


Trinity Means Three(some)

by illuminirk



Series: Christmas Smuts [2]
Category: Batman - Fandom, DC - Fandom, Justice League, Justice League of America, Superman - Fandom, Wonder Woman
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 14:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19855120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illuminirk/pseuds/illuminirk
Summary: Forget white elephant, forget giftcards, forget not celebrating holidays at all – no, Bruce, we have to do homemade gifts for each other. Homemade gifts and then some definitely alien alcohol and here we are, Clark who just handed out handwritten fantasies in his mom’s old school folders is the one flushing.





	Trinity Means Three(some)

_…Bruce looks up slowly as his lips make contact and my heart stops, time slows. His mouth is warm, his tongue slow and wet as he licks my slit over, and over, and over, pulling my newly felt heartbeat into his throat as his eyes slide shut and he lowers himself to take the length of me._

_My hips arch on their own and I fight to keep them still. His bare back is a wall of muscle between my legs but I’ve broken him in less pleasant ways too often to give up control now. I can’t risk ending this when it’s only just started. We’ve only just begun to be vulnerable like this, I can’t—But I thrust unthinkingly again as he trails a finger past my taint to tease at my ass, he makes a noise like a grunt as I hit the back of his throat, I’m going to—_

_Hands slip down my shoulders, push on my chest. Nails scratch lightly as a shower of dark hair spills across my vision and Diana kisses me, pushes back until I’m distracted and still, lost in her soft mouth and calloused hands._

_Every movement translates through her fingertips, every shift of her weight. Long thighs on either side of my head, wet cunt above me just enough to focus on other lips. Her breasts are bound to her ribs with soft linen I know Bruce will undo when she reaches for him. I reach up with both hands, pull her hair gently with one and stroke her neck with the other. She pushes down on my biceps, pinning my torso to the ground with a surge of will that restricts movement and makes me crave it. I slip my tongue into her mouth and Bruce grunts again._

_I know he is watching, and I pull her hair again. Diana angles her chin, slams back into me, rough edged teeth and heated breath. It’s only the slipping of them both, in angle not intent, that warns me I’m rising off the ground._

_It’s the sight of Bruce kneeling now, broad chest, loose hair, his stubble scraping me raw as he tongues me closer, eyes flicking open to meet mine. That does it. No control._

_I slip fingers out of her, the noise she makes the word of God, sit up midair and shove those same fingers into his mouth. His teeth scrape cock as I pull out, as he shifts in taste, in intent, unbalanced on his knees. I turn to her, press old prayers into her collarbone and lift her up, under the knees, lower her onto me without touching the ground. Her head flies back, hard body stretching over me and I groan. It’s almost too much. I lean back, and he’s there, halfway to his feet, dark bruises across his chest from mixed days of love and hate. His dick is leaking, stuck to his stomach as he stares at me, watches me pump into her while she breathes new constellations, staring at the sky. He watches as I take him into my mouth, folds over me as I suck him in, shove a finger into him, reach a hand over his neck to stabilize and save him. He bits my stomach as he comes, as I swallow him whole, as she yells and we jump a foot off the ground. I keep him in my mouth longer than I should, until I come as well and we fall. He catches us, somehow. He catches me._

Bruce doesn’t look up until he’s sure Diana’s finished reading. He keeps the folder balanced on his lap perhaps permanently. Clark is smiling at them both, no flush to his cheeks. It seems Superman isn’t worried about the effect of this particular gift on the good old team.

“Any thoughts?” Clark asks, and it’s a genuine question in good faith, as though he’s given the two of them a mission outline and not a lengthy fantasy threesome.

As a direct result of processing this situation, Bruce forgot to evaluate Diana and not simply wait for her to close the folder. “I—I thought it was lovely, Clark,” she says. “Perhaps unanticipated, but surely not unwanted.” She’s looking at Bruce. “Thank you for sharing.”

Clark puts a hand on her shoulder as he turns off the kitchen light. A little bit tipsy, perhaps. Has Bruce seen Clark tipsy? Does he actually get tipsy?

“Who’s next?” Diana says, clasping her hands over her knee and looking at Bruce. “I’m eager to see how else Christmas looks when three people who saved the world give homemade gifts.”

He does not want to go. Not now. This is not going to work out well. Some really nice working relationships are going to be ruined. “This is mine,” he says, and produces two small binders without saying anything else.

Diana smiles easily at him, her chin dimpling. “This is beautiful, Bruce.” She’s right. Compared to Clark’s home-used red folders, Bruce’s binders are beautiful, black leather with silver corner caps, and he hates it.

“Thanks.”

Clark sips tea as he opens his binder and reads, and Bruce wishes Alfred hadn’t marooned him here without support. Christmas at Clark’s house, a down home Christmas, just the three of them without news outlets or annoyances. _Sounds lovely, Mr. Wayne, sounds like just what you need, Mr. Wayne. Don’t want any distractions, Mr. Wayne. Bring your sexy pajamas, Mr. Wayne?_ Godfuckingdammit, he is not drunk enough for this and somehow Clark is.

He watches the pages turn and tries to calculate where they are. They read at roughly the same speed. Do they—Nope, that’s the only similar speed he needs to know right now.

Unbelievably, now Clark is flushing. Forget white elephant, forget giftcards, forget not celebrating holidays at all – no, Bruce, we have to do homemade gifts for each other. Homemade gifts and then some definitely alien alcohol and here we are, Clark who just handed out handwritten fantasies in his mom’s old school folders is the one flushing.

Then Diana starts reading aloud. The first time Bruce heard her speak he forgot his own name. Both she and Clark have voices to accomplish the impossible, but the particular languid power in her words changes his life every time she speaks. So as she says “cock” with the perfect articulation of a centuries old god, he simultaneously goes hard and loses five years off his life.

“…my cock. She kisses me, teeth and breath and the smell of human blood. Every movement of her shoulders, her hips, pulls me deeper. There are bruises where her rope holds me together, tied down. They feel like open mouthed kisses. I push against her, learn how to move with her. She fights and dances and fucks the same way – open, honest, true, crushing.”

Bruce’s eyes slide closed. He—

Clark reads aloud a different section. “Clark’s hands are softer than they ever put in the papers. Strength, vulnerability, death and resurrection – humanity writes about heroes and forgets to make them soft. Every finger in my ass is the gentlest touch I’ve ever felt. He kisses like my high school boyfriend. The difference is that when he’s on the edge, his bites draw more blood and more cum.” His voice is not as measured, as calm as Diana’s. Come to think of it, his voice seems a little high pitched and accented.

There is an 85% chance Alfred undid the deletions and considering the highly intelligent algorith—no, Bruce can’t even make up an excuse. It doesn’t matter how drunk he was or whatever stupid reason he’d use to bullshit next. Outer space whiskey is just a crutch for the fact that he painstakingly wrote out his largest fantasy because it’s not a fantasy, it’s hope.

He clears his throat. “Well—“

Someone kisses him. Warm, soft hands slide past his stubble to cup the back of his neck. No pulling, no pushing, no holding in place. Just touch. Clark really does kiss like his high school boyfriend.

Diana leans back, watches Bruce’s dick grow harder than he can hide and Clark caress him like they’ve done this before, watches unashamed hope like joy bloom in the tiniest crevices of the stupidest man she knows in response to the luxurious warmth in the hands of the second stupidest man she knows. “I suppose we don’t even need to open mine, then,” she says, and sets two simple typewritten stacks of parchment on the table.

The corners of Bruce’s eyes aren’t tight and his hands are open – a Wayne smile. Clark kisses him again, sloppy and laughing, reaching an arm back for her. She moves toward him, takes his hand, passes it around her waist, twists her hand in his hair and lowers her mouth to his neck. She breathes them both in for a moment, Bruce’s anxious hand in her own, then laughs softly. “We’ll just act it out.”

**Author's Note:**

> part 2 of the Christmas smut.... less shame and better pairings


End file.
